


Summerland

by simplyprologue



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, New Caprica, Shameless Smut, Smut, with bonus!feels?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:06:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyprologue/pseuds/simplyprologue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's summer on New Caprica, and Bill and Laura live a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summerland

**Author's Note:**

> This, if you're following me on tumblr, is formal reparation for a certain post about a certain cabin that I made last night, and all the people I made cry. So here, I give you giggly and happy New Caprican tent sex. 
> 
> As usual, thanks go out to [Mira](http://wolfheartedqueen.tumblr.com) and [Rachel](http://wibblywobblyinagoodway.tumblr.com) for beta'ing and sitting on the google doc with me for hours while I agonized over tone... and what position they should frak in.

When he gets back to Laura’s tent after his meeting with Baltar she’s still asleep, hugging the pillow in his absence. Waves of auburn hair wash down her naked back, and the sheets only come up to her waist, the New Caprican summer breeze rustling the canvas when he stoops to tie the fasteners behind him.  
  
It’s ten in the morning on a Saturday, a year and a half after the end of the worlds, and her skin in the shaded light of her tent, the fringe of her lashes against her cheekbones, her hair more red than blood in this yellow-tinted enclave—its a sight more beautiful than he thinks he’s seen in years.  
  
She’s right where he left her.  
  
Not that he’s surprised, of course. One of the things he’s learned about Laura Roslin is that, when she has nowhere to get up to go to, she can sleep like a rock. It’s nothing to cross the tent and sit on the edge of her cot--it’s low to the ground, thankfully, otherwise he’d fear about the rickedity thing... well, that’s a thought better left alone. She shifts under his hand when he strokes up and down the indent of her spine, fingers tripping over the notched bones.  
  
She squeaks endearingly (its a yawn, maybe, he thinks, and she stretches out against the mattress a bit) when Bill leans down, and brushing her hair to one side, presses a kiss behind her ear.  
  
“I’m back,” he says, voice low, capturing her earlobe between his lips when she shivers. “Sleepyhead.”  
  
“How was your meeting?” she mumbles, stretching again, and he can feel the muscles of her back elongating under his palm as he sits up again.  
  
“Quick. Baltar had other things to do.” Not things, really, but women. But then again, so did he. (Well, woman. Singular.) Shore leave for the Admiral is a precious commodity, and he’d rather spend it in Laura’s cot, relearning the feel of her skin under his fingers, the taste of her lips, the smell of her hair, rather than in a meeting with frakking Baltar.  
  
She hums in response, and he knows that she knows what he meant by “other things to do.” After all, Baltar _had_ been her problem first. Bill smiles at her naked shoulders, thinking of a response, but then she rolls onto her back, and he finds himself confronted with her breasts, pale and morning-soft.  
  
“Morning,” she says, a coy grin painted on her lips, eyes still heavily-lidded from sleep.  
  
“Morning,” he replies, leaning down to brush his lips against her smile, letting his eyes fall closed when she lazily pushes her tongue into his mouth, letting his hands come up to her breasts, brushing his thumbs against her nipples. He pulls back, and she arches her back into his grasp, folding her arms above her head, obviously comfortable under his gaze. _Good_ , he thinks. He likes her there. Moving his hands out of the way (and to relearn the dip of her waist, how the raise of her hips fit in his palms) to lean down and nip at the curve of her breast, trailing open mouth kisses to the pert bud before sucking it into his mouth.  
  
Arms snapping down, fingers threading through his hair, she gasps, “ _Good_ morning.” He looks up the plane of her chest, grinning. “Don’t stop,” she pouts, looking down at him.  
  
In no mood to be contrary, especially with a demand as... pleasing as this, Bill kisses his way to her other breast.  
  
“Have you had breakfast yet?” he asks, knowing the answer. Although her curves are more flush than they were even just a few months ago, she’s too thin, he thinks. Even without the mantle of the presidency she eats too little, sleeps too little, works to too much. Even without seeing her on a steady basis (although he gets letters, the occasional phone call, when they can manage, its the best they can do with his little amount of leave, with Baltar breathing down their necks, suspicious) he knows. Trailing the backs of his fingers down the ripples in her skin indicating her ribs, he takes her other nipple into his mouth.  
  
“Looks like you’re about to,” she answers, scratching her fingers down his back, over the wool of his jacket. "Gods, aren’t you hot? Take this off.”  
  
She pushes him back into a sitting position, following him up. His eyes land on her breasts as they bounce back into place, and she rolls her own back at him. _Boys and their toys_ , he can almost hear her think, when she manhandles him to face her, fingers plucking the buttons on his jacket open. Bill chuckles, helping her strip it away.  
  
“Take your clothes off, Bill,” she tells him, and he can feel her lips moving against the rim of his ear, breath hot against the side of his face. Rucking his tanks out from the waist of his trousers, she chases her hands up under the grey cotton, mouthing the back of his neck. He feels her nose rub along his hairline, her teeth nibbling quickly before she pulls her head back. “I need to work up an appetite.”  
  
He laughs then, really laughs, pulling the tanks up and over his head and tossing them wherever they may land. (The same place, coincidentally, that he sent _her_ clothes to the night before.)  
  
“For what?” he teases.  
  
She bites his shoulder, giggling. “You said something about breakfast.” Her arms come around him, fingers stroking down his chest over his stomach, to his belt, working it open and (well, more, really) roughly, working it out from the loopholes his waist. “You better deliver, Admiral.”  
  
“Or what?”  
  
She pauses from kissing her way across his broad shoulders to rest her chin on one, a thoughtful expression on her face as she takes up raking her fingers through his sparse chest hair instead. Bill turns his head a bit to be able to look at her more fully, smiling at her face as he can tell she’s grasping for a witty comeback. Laura hums, and the hum builds to a snort, then giggles as she just gives up, biting gently on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He can feel her slim frame shaking with laughter behind him, and it makes him feel so... just to see her so happy.  
  
He groans when her teeth find a particularly sensitive spot, and she bears down in response (heated now, she wasn’t kidding, it _is_ getting hot--because of her skin on his or because of the rising sun, he can’t say) and it goes straight to his stiffening erection.  
  
His head lolls back, hands pausing over the laces of his boots. “Are you trying to mark me?” he asks when she lingers.  
  
His answer is a guilty silence that, in a way, almost warms his heart. “I gotta warn Saul Tigh off somehow,” she replies humorously. “You’re mine now.” She licks the spot one last time, before tilting her mouth back to his ear, tongue darting out to trace the shell. “You know how I feel about sharing, and he gets to spend all that time with you, up on the Galactica, while I’m down here, in my cold, lonesome, bed...”  
  
Her voice trails off into giggles, but Bill can tell that she means at least some of it. (The sharing part, he knows for certain from the last time Ellen tried to put her hands on him, on Founder’s Day.)  
  
“Cold and lonesome?” he rasps. “Can’t have that.”  
  
“Bill,” she says with a snort. “ _Take your clothes off._ ”  
  
“You can’t order me around anymore, lady.” He laughs, stripping off his boots as she undoes his fly.  
  
He nearly chokes on his laugh when her hand dives into his boxers, fingers wrapping around his hardened length, working him with a stunning alacrity that immediately sends all the blood rushing out from his brain.  
  
“Can’t I?” she breathes, her leonine mane of hair brushing against his torso. Her hand slowly pumping, she moves her thumb to press against the bundle of nerves under the head of his cock, making him jerk his hips into her grasp. She collects the moisture beading at the tip, and, with a deliberate, but unhurried, twist of her wrist, sets him shuddering under her grasp. “And here I thought that I had you pretty firmly in hand.”  
  
Bill groans--a little too loudly for inside a tent, but honestly, _frak it_ \--when Laura places suckling kisses under his jawline. “Baltar will never have the same... hold on the military that you did.”  
  
Laura hums contentedly. “I’d hope not.” Shifting onto all fours, she bends her head towards his lap, and the sight her mouth and his cock together is almost too much. “I didn’t think he was your type.” He shifts backwards, further onto the cot. Laura takes the opportunity to push his trousers and boxers down his thighs, and to take his erection into her mouth.  
  
“Just you,” he gasps, brushing her hair to one side to watch as her lips follow her hand down to his base. She peers up at him, hollowing her cheeks out, swallowing him. “Only you. _Frak_.”  
  
She goes down on him hungrily, moaning and humming around his length, her lips and hands setting a ravenous pace. When she drops down onto her elbows and presses her breasts into his bare thigh--tight tipples, pliant, satiny flesh--he almost loses it. She can tell, of course, how close he is, and taunts him for a few moments longer before drawing her head back to lip the head, laving the thick vein on the underside of his cock before swirling her tongue around the tip.  
  
“Shit, Laura,” he rasps, grabbing her under her elbows and pulling her up for a kiss. Burying his hands in her hair, he plies her mouth with wet, open kisses, finding no resistance and she lifts herself up onto her knees, wrapping her arms around his neck. His cock throbs painfully in the absence of her mouth, coated in her saliva and his own arousal. Palming her ass, he brings her in closer.  
  
Had it ever been this good before? With anyone? This elemental? This...  
  
He brings Laura to straddle one of his thighs, pulling her closer until he can feel her mound against his stomach, her curls brushing up against him and his fingers curl in, around the delicate skin of her inner thigh, the tips sliding up and down her folds. _So wet_...  
  
He tells her that, and then teases a breathy moan from her lips by circling in on her clit, flicking it between his calloused fingers. She moves her hips with his ministrations, frakking his hand with an endearing enthusiasm and letting her head fall back when he slips one, and then another, finger inside her to the knuckle.  
  
“Oh _gods_.”  
  
He watches the muscles on her face tense, eyes fluttering shut when he steadies her by wrapping his free arm around the small of her back. He curls his fingers, searching for that spot inside her, dragging his hand down the front of her channel until her eyes roll back and her hips jerk into him so hard that it threatens to throw off his balance and send them toppling off the cot. Keeping her tight to him, he keeps his fingers there even as Laura begins to shake, rubbing the rough patch of flesh and watching the pleasure dawn on her beautiful face.  
  
“ _Bill_...” she moans, quietly enough, murmuring his name over and over again, her pussy clenching down on his fingers, wetness running down onto his palm, the tent filling with the squelching sound of sex, her gasping breaths, the smell of arousal and summer air. Gods, he could live here.  
  
The thought startles him, almost. It’s a dangerous thought--and Laura’s a dangerous woman. She’s enough to make him consider leaving his command. He could make a home here, with her. In her cabin on the lake--Bill pictures himself in that cabin, waking up on lazy mornings like this, curling around her warm skin as the sun rose, laughing and talking and reading, just... being. He’s never been so tempted by that dream before... but it’s not the dream, it’s Laura.  
  
“Gods,” she exhales. “Bill, frak me.”  
  
“How do you want me to frak you, Laura?” he asks, voice low, almost a growl. Frak, he wants this. He wants her. He always wants her, has always wanted her. It’s always been the two of them, since the beginning, since she called bullshit on his lie about Earth. Or maybe Kobol, at least since Kobol. His mouth wraps around of her nipples again, tongue flicking out over the rosy bud. “How do you want it?”  
  
“I want all of it,” she breathes, still frakking herself on his hand, her tongue flicking out to moisten her smirking lips. “However you want it, _Admiral_.” Her voice is that of the coquette, and she bends her head, kissing her way from his ear to his lips, only to flick her tongue out again, tracing his bottom lip with it. “Sir.” Pulses herself around his fingers, clenching down.  
  
His synapses must misfire, because Bill finds himself biting the side of her breast, bypassing her delighted gasp and turning her off of his lap and pushing her down onto her stomach on the cot. She moans (too loudly, people will hear her, but at this point, he almost wants it like that) when he gets on his knees behind her, gripping her thighs tight and spreading them apart. She’s moaning his name, and his fingers are leaving marks on her thighs, her hips, white spots filling back into pink as he adjusts his grip on her, moves her how he wants her.  
  
His fingers return to her folds. Stooping a bit, he wraps one arm under her, around her belly, using one hand to work her clit while the other teases her entrance.  
  
She whimpers, and he pins his knees behind her hamstrings, pushing her legs even wider and lifts herself up onto her elbows.  
  
“Gods, just like that, Bill,” she pants, her legs pushing back against him, trying to ground herself against something, to keep herself from flying off the edge. “So close. I’m so frakking close. Bill, please, oh gods but I want you in me when I come...”  
  
“Yeah?” he rasps, growing even harder as she clenches down, the muscles of her back rippling with the fluid tension, his palms slick with sex.  
  
“Yeah.” Laura whimpers again, arching her back. “Yeah, oh gods, please...”  
  
Planting his hands under her arms, Bill lets his erection press against the swell of her ass, grinding himself into her, letting her calm down for a few minutes, until she’s lifting her hips back against him, torturing him with her dewy skin and toned muscles and sinful hips.  
  
“Come on,” she says, tossing her hair over one shoulder, tilting her head.  
  
Bill kisses up her spine, her neck, her sculpted cheekbones to swollen lips, nosing her in a silent request to turn her face towards him. Capturing her lips, he reaches down and aligns the head of himself with her entrance, and she sucks the breath from his mouth when he pushes in with one unyielding thrust. Laura turns her head from the kiss, eyes squeezing shut, nose wrinkling, back arching and limbs elongating, culminating in a long, pleased moan.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
She emits a shivering squeak that goes straight to his balls. “ _Yeah_.”  
  
He doesn’t bother to start slow, with both of them as worked up as they are. No, this is going to be hard, and fast, and something his mind will be wandering to during boring CIC shifts in the upcoming weeks, until he can get down here again, to her and her talk of her cabin, in a month or two.  
  
( _Sooner_ , he thinks desperately, rolling his hips into her. _I’ll make it sooner, somehow_. He’ll get a weekend meeting with Baltar, or Friday night. Get some bunk time with Laura, go to dinner with her to one of the vendors, look at the stars. Bring down a new book for her. _Sooner. Frak_ , he can hardly stand not being able to just reach out and touch her. Simple things--her hand, the small of her back. And then this... _Frak_.)  
  
“Frak, Laura.” She brings her newly-freed legs in when he leans forward, twisting his fists into her cot’s sheets as he pounds into her.  
  
She’s so tight around him, and the angle is mindblowing, and frakking hell he just wants to let go, but she’s so much smaller than him--it usually never crosses his mind, but under him, like this, she seems small and delicate in comparison to him, even if the height differential isn’t there. But frak, he wants to be deeper, to bury himself to the hilt inside her pussy and stay there, feel her quivering around him, so he does, moving his hands back to her waist to grind their hips together, until she shivers, and he loves that she lets him feel it, lets him feel what this is doing to her, what he's doing to her.   
  
Bill starts to thrust again, and she moves, levering her hips up with every downswing and its enough to make him see lights. Vaguely, he can hear foot traffic outside, people talking and moving and he knows anyone, hell, Kara probably, could come in at anytime but frak if he cares at this point, when Laura drops down, crying out and flinging her arms out so her fingers can clutch to the sides of the cot, inviting Bill to drop down onto his elbows. He moves his hands in when her back arches, slowing his thrusts but increasing the hardness of them, his fingers reaching under her to plump her breasts.  
  
She cries out his name, muffled by her pillow, squirming down until only her forehead is on her pillow, sharp gasps and panting breaths escaping her parted lips. “Oh Lords.”  
  
“Just me.”  
  
She snorts indelicately. “You’re full of yourself,” she manages.  
  
He drops his head to lick the hollow between her shoulder and neck. “Really?” he pants. “Because I thought _you_ were--”  
  
“Shut up and frak me harder.”  
  
He bites down, rolling the skin between his teeth before releasing it, the salty tang of sweat on his tongue. But holy frak he loves the way she tastes. “I thought I told you that you can’t boss me around anymore,” he answers, before licking the skin behind her ear.  
  
“You liked it.” Her tone is teasing, but affectionate.  
  
And gods, if he hadn’t been bedding older women, women who were his superiors, from the time he was a cocky lieutenant viper jock when the old girl was still new...  
  
“Do you want it harder, Laura?” He steals her hands away from the side of the mattress, bringing them under his arms, lacing their fingers together. “Is that really what you want?”  
  
He pins her to the cot, dropping so they’re skin to skin, every inch from their shoulders to their toes. His hips slow to a slow, delicious roll, the head of him pushing up against that spot inside her, and she squirms, even when he stops entirely. She lifts her head again, smiling, turning to kiss the side of his face. She hums, and he can feel it begin in her chest, radiating outwards and it makes him feel...  
  
“I kind of like you right here.” She lifts one of her legs, rubbing his calf with her toes. “Like this.”  
  
He adjusts his hips only slightly, so his cock remains pushing at that spot--and she stretches under him like a cat, sighing appreciatively. He watches the sound travel down her lithe frame, kissing her ear when it finishes, lingering when she hums again.  
  
“I miss you,” she says, quietly, tightening her fingers around his own. “I wasn’t kidding when I said it gets lonely.” She brings their hands closer to her head, dipping her chin to trace the lines of his forearm with a chain of tender kisses. “I miss having you here with me.”  
  
He feels a warmth bloom in his chest. He knows, for all that Laura plays at the unemotional observer, the arbiter of governance... he drops a lingering kiss to the side of her neck, feeling his way to her pulse point with his lips.  
  
“I miss you too,” he whispers, untangling their fingers and rising back up onto his palms,  encouraging her to roll over. She does, and with eyes shining she pulls him back to rest on top of her.  
  
“Kiss me?”  
  
Hands stroking down her sides, Bill lowers his mouth to hers. Tongues sliding against each other, he lets her pull his hips closer, letting her work them into a tighter connection, a hotter fit, before wrapping her legs around him, pushing her heels into the base of his spine, right where he feels the pressure building, coiling.  
  
He wants this to be good for her. He wants this to stay her for however long it takes him to come back.  
  
She hums, thrusting reflexively against him when he lifts her hips to a sweeter angle, one he knows that she likes. He kisses the fringe of her lashes, her hairline, behind her ear, content to stroke his thumbs along the swell of her hips.  
  
“I miss sleeping beside you,” she whispers. “I miss this.” Her hands stroke over his back, roaming, her fingernails cutting through sweat and biting into his thick, corded muscles.  
  
His heart pangs, the call of the cabin, of settling, louder than ever.  
  
But what choices do they have?  
  
 _You could settle_ , a niggling voice says. _You owe that to her_. He never settled, with Carolanne. Not even for his own sons, he thinks darkly. But he knows. They both know. The cylons will come back. Or Gaius Baltar will frak up, and get people killed. This summer on New Caprica cannot last, and she will return to office and will need him on Galactica when she does. Right now she’s the head teacher. This is how she can serve her people, biding her time. He needs... he needs to be up there.  
  
When, for the first time in his career, his head and heart are elsewhere.  
  
He knows Laura Roslin will settle for being his girl in port. She’s told him as much. But how long, realistically, can they carry on like this? How long can his heart, her heart, take it?  
  
This is so much more than his marriage. Than anything he’s felt before. Bill knows that the relationship can withstand his absence, but can _he_?  
  
“I miss you too,” he says with a heavy voice. When he thrusts, he can feel the flutter of her stomach muscles, her breasts, pushed up against his chest. She moans obligingly. The heat between them is burning, but he can’t stop, not that he’s started again, pumping into her faster and faster.  
  
 _So tight_ , he thinks, begging for something to give soon, thinking he should have let her come before frakking her, finding himself too close to crisis too soon.  
  
But then he feels her trembling, limbs tightening impossibly around him and Bill pulls back, locking eyes with her. Her smile is devastating, when she lifts her hands to frame his face. She barely stifles her moans, her face and chest flushed with desire and he moves faster, and harder, within the clutch of her thighs and watches her face contort with almost, with the insanity of closeness, and he keeps her there when he slides his hips down her body and rides the ridge of his groin against her bundle of nerves until she begins to shake, her breaths high and keening.  
  
He holds her to him, murmuring words of encouragement ( _so beautiful, so perfect, so close, there you go, Laura, come on, come on, I’ve got you_ ) until he pushes her over the steep slope of pleasure, sending her falling, her body writhing beneath him as she threatens to shake herself apart with climax, bottom lip pushed between her teeth, a moan choked down deep in her throat.  
  
“Laura...”  
  
She looks like a goddess, his own alternative god, orgasm coloring her features, casting her in deep, saturated hues of summer, and lust, and his own reverence.  
  
“Bill...” she answers, her voice an octave higher than normal, and from a different place in her chest.  
  
He kisses her again, desperate for her touch, her mouth, the grip of her on his cock. He tries to be conscious of her, still, so close beneath him but she digs her heels in harder and he rockets away, groaning into her mouth as grows closer, and closer to release, feeling it just outside of his reach, and then within.  
  
Laura clutches at his hair with with one hand, ripping her lips from his to bring her mouth to his ear, whispering to him, and he strokes her frantically when she clenches around him deliberately, hands reaching from her tits to her waist to her ass, and thighs and calves, his fingers searching out all of her skin, wanting to feel it under his hands.  
  
He grunts as he peaks, feeling it all unwind--his muscles, his mind, and that delicious tension in his balls coiling for a few breathtaking, mind-melting moments before his hips jerk erratically into the embrace of her pussy, and he comes.  
  
Slumping against her, Bill feels Laura bring his head to her shoulder, stroking his hair, letting her legs come down, rubbing her feet along his. She hums, and its the most wonderful sound in the world, as his mind unspools and he fights the urge to fall asleep on top of her, his face buried in her neck.  
  
“So,” she says, kissing his temple. “Breakfast?”  
  
He laughs, tightening his arms around her and moving down to pillow his head on her stomach. She props her head up on her pillow, smiling down at him.  
  
If this is the only summer they’re going to get, he’ll take it, Bill thinks, grinning back at her before dropping lazy kisses to her abdomen.  
  
It’s a year and a half since the end of the worlds. They’d better start living.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews are very much appreciated.


End file.
